


The Words that Matter

by Anyjen



Series: Dreams and Realities [2]
Category: xxxHoLic
Genre: Basically Fluffy Smut, Fluff and Smut, Lemon, M/M, Mild Smut, Smut, Smutlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyjen/pseuds/Anyjen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight, you aren't listening to the words that escape his lips, which have so often infuriated you in the past. Tonight, the only words you can listen to are the ones spoken by your bodies entwined and by his heart beating alongside yours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Words that Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Well, here I am again, and this time I bring you... da lemon!
> 
> And what do I mean by that? Well, I mean this is what should have been at the end of "Dreams and Realities" but that I skipped in favour of a healthy lime because it would have thrown the story waaaay out of the "T" rating and because it wouldn't fit the narrative right. So here it is, written from another perspective. Whose, it should become apparent soon enough.
> 
> Now, while this takes place in the "Dreams and Realities" storyline, it can be read perfectly well as a stand-alone... though admittedly, you'll probably enjoy it more if you've read that other story first.
> 
> Once again, thanks to my lovely betas Beboots and Product Of A Sick Society, who have found the time to take a look at my story despite having busy schedules of their own. *bows*

* * *

He is inside your apartment, readily responding to your kisses and your touches as if this was a perfectly normal thing that you did everyday, as opposed to something that goes against every behavioural pattern both of you have ever showed.

He trembles when you touch him and you wonder how long he's wanted this, wanted you, in silence, and then you realize that he wasn't silent at all; it's just that you weren't listening to the right words.

His entire body, his entire body language, is a declaration of how much he's wanted this, needed this, and there is no room for doubt or apprehension in your mind as you take away whatever separates your body from his, finally listening to the words that matter, the ones that weren't voiced at all.

He leans into your touch and seems almost starved for affection when you give the first clumsy, tentative caresses. A man that has been starved for too long will think a simple piece of bread a feast, and so he doesn't complain at your inexperience; he simply relishes your touch and the fact that it's _your_ hands against his skin.

Your lips find his and he seems to melt away in your arms, and you worry for a moment that this may be too much, too soon, but then he takes a breath that is almost a sob and you realize that it's gratefulness, and relief, and not grief or fear what caused that sound, and the last of your insecurities are swept away. Just like that.

His body arches off the bed, rubbing slowly in a full body caress against yours, and you cannot help thinking what a sensual creature he is. You never expected it of him, with his upbringing, but every movement, every sound that escapes his mouth, every touch of his lips on your skin is lighting a fire deep inside you that will consume you if you don't let it free.

He presses something into your hand and whispers what could be instructions in your ear -always instructions, always demands, from him- but you're not listening to the words, only what he means by them. He is not trying to annoy you, he is simply telling you the way of taking that fire and giving it shape, and a direction, and a purpose.

Then he is open and waiting, offering himself to you as he has so many times before but in a different setting, and despite the fact that this is completely new for both of you, it seems completely normal that you take what is being offered.

With slicked fingers inside him you can feel every shiver, every tremor that runs through his body, and you realize that he is barely able to contain himself, that he is fisting the sheets in an effort not to reach out and hold you and it's so perfect that you feel you just might do it for him and never let go.

He sighs as you breach him, and it's such a perfect little sound that you don't stop until you are completely inside him, and you nearly lose it because it feels so good, not only in the flesh but in your heart and in your mind as well.

You are not sure if this is what Kohane-chan meant by the two of you merging, but it certainly feels that way now, with his legs around your waist, his arms around your shoulders and his face against your neck, pressed so tightly together that you wonder where he ends and you begin.

Trembling lips find your own, and you don't want this to ever end as you hold still for that infinite moment when nothing matters except the fact that it's him in your arms and you in his.

You gaze for a moment into golden eyes and seek something; you're not sure what, maybe pain, or discomfort, or regret, but there is none of that in those eyes. There is only that same calm determination that has led you both here, to this bed, to this moment.

You don't even realize the moment you begin to move; your body acted without you giving it the order, or maybe it was him who moved first and you simply answered. It's hard to tell at this point; you feel that you could drown in those eyes and you wonder vaguely what it is he sees in yours because he doesn't seem to want to stop.

And it's strange, because you've never been able to hold his gaze for so long before, there was always too much between the two of you. Too many words, empty words, of complaint, of annoyance and contempt, but now there's only desire, and need, and something deeper that you can't put a name to but you think you know what it is anyway.

Finally you close your eyes, as what your body is feeling is starting to overwhelm you, and you want to lose yourself in that feeling until you can't take it anymore.

Your bodies move together almost of their own volition, seeming to know what the two of you don't about this dance you're dancing together for the first time.

You feel hands tracing unknown patterns at your back, your waist, your hips and lower, and that voice, that so many times irritated you in the past, is whispering things in your ear. Not words -you are both too far gone for that- but they reach you all the same, every gasp, every sigh, every moan tells you what you need to know, what you need to do. You can vaguely tell you are answering in kind, but you can't focus on your voice when there is so much that is taking hold of your senses already.

Muscles ripple and shift, quiver and tremble against your chest, your hips, your thighs and around your waist, and the knowledge that all that power is willingly surrendered to you is making your head spin and lose whatever hold you had over your sense of reality. There's only skin against skin, and delicious pressure, and friction, and heat, and lips, and two bodies in a single entity moving with a primal rhythm that you didn't even know you had inside.

You wish this could last forever but you can tell it's going to end soon. You are both too young and desire this too much for it to last long.

The fire inside your veins builds, and coils, and burns and grows and makes you both move faster, sharper, in a maddening tempo that fills the air of your apartment with the organic sounds and smells of your union.

He tightens his hold around your back suddenly and tenses against your shoulder, and he shudders almost violently as you feel a wet warmth spread between your joint bodies. You realize you're whispering soothing words in his ear while he pants and nearly sobs against your neck. You have gone still, ignoring the demands of your body, in an effort to let him breathe despite the fact that he has gone tight around you and the sensation is so intense it's almost painful.

When he relaxes and his body goes slack against you, you try to slip out but find that he won't let you. His legs are still firmly held around your waist and he refuses to break the connection between the two of you. You feel only a distant pang of familiar annoyance at his selflessness -it can't be comfortable now that he has finished- but your body is not listening to you any more. It provides what he is demanding instinctively, and you begin to move again, and it's harder, and faster than before, the fire roaring in your ears now and commanding you to move and thrust and take.

You are not sure if you make any sound when the world explodes before your closed eyes, but he certainly is, although you can't make sense of what he is saying. It probably isn't something meant to be heard anyway. He doesn't say the words that matter, he acts on them instead.

You slowly return to the world of the living and find yourself panting against his neck, and he is kissing your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, every bit of skin he can reach from his position squashed underneath you. He doesn't complain about your weight over him, or the fact that you obviously finished inside him.

Not without some effort, you manage to get your arms under you and push your weight up to give him some room, which he promptly uses to hold your face between his hands and kiss you fully on the lips, slowly, languidly, with a tenderness you didn't know he possessed before today.

You feel leeched of all energy and pleasantly warm and content and not at all inclined to break off the embrace yet, so you kiss back with the same kind of lazy abandon, slowly, carefully, relishing the moment.

Reality begins to slowly intrude back, though, and all too soon you become aware of the cooling sticky mess between your bodies, and your exhaustion, and the fact that you haven't even pulled out from him yet. The friction is now almost painful against over-sensitized skin, and this is hardly a position you can sleep in.

You sigh and break off the kiss to pull yourself up and away from him. He doesn't resist the separation this time, and lets his legs fall easily to the bed as you pull out, with a small wince that is echoed in his body.

You worry briefly that you may have hurt him, but he is stretching lazily and wearing a look that is so satisfied it's almost indecent, so you snort and go about finding something to clean both of you up.

You know him too well to expect him to help, and for once, you don't mind. Your touch is almost a caress as you clean him with a wet cloth and you wonder briefly why you don't feel at all self-conscious to be naked with him now that the passion has spent itself, but you are too tired to care and he is... not smiling, not really, but his features have softened somewhat, and he is looking at you with that same alien tenderness that worried you the first time you saw it, but now it makes something warm expand in your chest and not care about the consequences of what the two of you have just done.

He reaches out and takes hold of your wrist, stroking softly with his thumb for a moment before pulling you towards him and... the word "snuggling" comes to mind, followed by its siblings "cuddling" and "spooning", but somehow you can't believe that this normally inexpressive guy would do something that requires such vocabulary to be described, so you settle for falling into the actions without trying to put labels to them.

Words are important; they give shape to reality and enable the beings that dwell in it to grasp bits of it and feel almost as it they could control it, but maybe not all aspects of reality were meant for them to make sense of.

After all, isn't it what this is all about?

What goes on between the two of you is too unusual, and somehow too mundane, to be put into words and make it justice.

You reach behind you and drag his arm forward, bringing him closer so you can hold his hand over your heart, in a gesture that you would have labelled as cheesy if you had bothered with labels at all. This is the same arm that has held a bow to protect you, from spirits and from yourself, the same arm that stopped you from falling to your death and the one that had been extended to help you to your feet when you weren't strong enough to stand by yourself, weighed down by guilt and regret.

He falls quickly asleep, mumbling something about tri-coloured sushi for breakfast, and you feel magnanimous for being in the perfect position to dig an elbow into his stomach and choosing not to.

After all, you are learning to listen only to the words that matter, the ones spoken by the ease with which your bodies fit together and relax in the darkness, and you don't feel like interrupting them right now.

The end

**Author's Note:**

> My first real lemon... although it turned out so fluffy it barely qualified as such. So nostalgic. My muses have taken me to WAY dirtier places since then.
> 
> No cultural notes this time... I even replaced "futon" for "bed" here, because it somehow fit the mood better. Just keep in mind that there is probably no room for a real bed in Watanuki's apartment, so it more than likely was a futon the one under the boys here. Heh.
> 
> Please remember that feedback of any kind is highly appreciated, treasured, and kept for future reference and inspiration.


End file.
